


The Sun Blinded Me

by matanee



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Gen, I had to give him some redemption, M/M, and sad, and tragic, my heart breaks for Micheletto, this is a bit weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matanee/pseuds/matanee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1507, Siena. Micheletto Corella meets a girl and finds God. He wonders if a dead man can ever be forgiven.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Her face grew serious and she fell into deep thinking, then, she nodded.</i></p><p>  <i>"Anyone can be forgiven. Even a murderer."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun Blinded Me

_Forgive me Father, I have sinned_  
 _Darkness put her painted claws in me again_  
 _Her vision drowns like service wine_  
 _Whispered kisses so divine_  
 _I was blessed but now I've come undone._

 

**1507, Siena**

 

 

The setting Sun cast its light upon the streets of Siena, scarlet brickwalls turning into golden waterfalls as the shadows grew behind the high tower of the city. The Piazza del Campo was busy as anytime during the day - tired mothers took their children home, hoarse voiced mongers prepared their ware as they were to return to their houses, only to start all over again tomorrow.

Micheletto Corella was leaning on the parapet, observing the end of yet another day in a city that wasn't home to him. No city was home to him for a long time now. Perhaps Rome was the closest to his heart as far as he could tell, but that was the part of the past already.

A past as dark as the night sky that was about to cease the sunlight and strangle it until there was nothing left of it.

How he had known that feeling, when there was nothing left anymore. How many times he had felt life slipping out of bodies, just like the Sun would choke on air once the Moon had grabbed its throat. It was a nasty death, unclean, coward. Lucky was the Sun, for it could not die.

He had heard the quiet steps of a woman, or, more likely a girl behind him. She was watching him for some time now; hours, days, weeks even. The Torre del Mangia was high, climbing it without gasping for air was impossible for such a weak body. Her steps might have been careful, but she was loud.

Micheletto wondered what harm she could cause him.

She was fourteen years old at the most, her hair golden blonde, her clothes clear, her hands soft. He examined her when she didn't think he was watching, but, out of all people, he would have been a fool to remain unseeing. Then again, however, was there anything to lose anymore? His life was worth nothing. If he was about to be relieved of it, he would have been the one to show appreciation.

"You are not of Siena."

 _Brave,_ he noted to himself, dropping his eyes from the sky to the rooftops. They were glaring back at him with disdain.

"You knew I was following you."

"I will kill no one," he said coldly, his posture unmoving. "You tell that to whoever sent you here, girl."

He heard her smiling and her steps approached. He felt a sudden itch in his palm, the wish to grab the hilt of his sword, but he simply let his fingers tighten around the parapet instead. The stone was cold underneath his fingertips and he watched her from the corner of his eye.

From up close, she was prettier than from far away. Obviously, she was not a mere servant or someone even lesser than that. She was of a rich family.

It could not be a coincidence, could it?

"Did you kill many?" she asked, her voice almost conversational. Micheletto replied without thinking.

"Too many."

"How many deserved it?"

"Too few."

She leaned forward, her hair blown by the wind above the Piazza del Campo. She was shining in the sunlight and Micheletto straightened, taking in her sight. She reminded him of someone, now also part of the past. The thought of Lucrezia Borgia, the memory of her soft hands against his face placed a bittersweet aching in his chest, and he swallowed.

"Should I take it as a compliment?" she turned her head to him, the coy smile on her lips only increasing the pain he was trying to suppress.

"What?"

"Such a great murderer being terrified of me."

Micheletto snorted, taking his eyes from her. He felt uneasy.

"I am just a girl, teasing you, be at peace," she grinned, a childish sparkle dancing in her eyes as she kicked into the dust a little. The bottom of her fine dress was already blackened from the walks of the day, and he decided to fix his eyes on that. "You are interesting, murderer. Do you have a name?"

"Not one you should learn."

"My name is Vittoria," she continued on, as if he hadn't even said a thing, and he looked up at her at last. She eyed him intently. "In case you were wondering. I fathom you weren't."

There was slight disappointment there, between two ringing words, but she was ever glowing in the orange light. He felt as if his heart was giving up on him, and he looked down at the square.

He wondered if he could make use of her.

"Tell me, Vittoria, are you innocent?"

The question seemed to catch her attention, for she was sinking her glance into him in the fashion of claws, and he pressed his lips together somewhat tighter. It was not out of irritation - it had to do more with nervousness.

"As in, am I a virgin?"

"Are you innocent?"

"I have made a vow to St. Agnes," her smile burnt a hole through his chest. "The patron saint of purity."

"Then do you believe in God?"

He was looking at her again, the lines on his face hard and the look in his eyes pleading.

"Of course I do. You will have to look hard to find any who doesn't," she tilted her head. An answer was on the tip of his tongue but he changed his mind and closed his eyes for a second. He didn't understand himself, and, with every passing moment he was more and more certain that he became deranged.

It was maybe Siena. It was maybe this girl. It was maybe the past.

Or the ghosts.

"I was looking for God, Vittoria," he was eyeing the horizon, the Sun slowly falling over the edge to welcome its well deserved rest. It was perhaps the choking arms of the Moon the Sun was falling into. "I was looking for God and I could not find him."

She chuckled.

"You were not looking hard enough. Or not at the right place."

"I tried to confess to him," he interrupted, turning to her yet again. "Can a dead man be forgiven?"

Vittoria's face grew serious and she fell into deep thinking, then, she nodded.

"Anyone can be forgiven. Even a murderer."

"Can you forgive me in his stead, then?"

She laughed at that, baffled.

"I am no priest. I am not the pope either."

"Believe me, God does not dwell in priests, nor in the pope. None of them are innocent," Micheletto shook his head, feeling like he was running out of time all of a sudden. Could it be that it was God's presence itself that frustrated him so? Could it be that, at last, he found him?

Vittoria seemed doubtful, as if she was to be lured into something sinful, and her eyes narrowed slightly. Yet, she gave him a small smile either way.

"You want to confess your sins to God in the Torre del Mangia?"

He wanted to smile at her. She was so oblivious, not doubting his intentions for even a second. She was not afraid of getting killed, she was not afraid to judge him in the name of God.

She worried for the location instead.

"You cannot go any closer to him, can you?" he looked up for a split second, seeing nothing but the stone ceiling hanging above them and he watched her smile. "Only when you die."

"What about you?"

Micheletto looked down at the floor, staring into the blind eyes of his own shadow. He hoped his ever loyal companion would answer in his stead, but it stayed silent. Like always. The traitor.

"I do not think that even the thought of Heaven is allowed for me."

The evening around them grew darker with every moment but he cared not. She did not care either.

She signed him to kneel and he did. To her, it was a game of playing roles. To him, it was the last confession he would ever make. He felt God's watchful gaze on the back of his neck, his presence in the small space around them, and the shadows kept moving with the wind.

He was listening at last.

"What sins do you wish to confess, murderer?" she asked, silently enough to show that she was careful of who might be listening, playfully enough to show that she was a mere child. She might not have another chance to be the judge of God ever again in her life.

Micheletto leaned on his thighs, his fingers digging into his knee as he collected his thoughts. He was on the brink of sweating, and his eyes were already stinging.

"I have only one sin to confess."

"What would that be?"

He took a deep breath, his insides shaking.

"I loved a man."

Micheletto closed his eyes and inhaled. The sight of him, the smell of him, the memory of his touch rushed back into his mind and clouded it, rendering him lifeless for a second. He was not part of this world as he saw Pascal again, after so many years of denying himself the pleasure to remember. He was part of the past in that moment, and with the pleasure came the inevitable pain. The pain that he also forgot, a pain that pushed a gentle whimper out of his parted lips as he returned to this life.

"And?"

She knew there was more to come, and her voice was still gentle, like the running water. So she didn't know what it was to love. For a man to love a man. For anyone to love anyone.

He was truly joyous for her.

"He returned my faith in God," he muttered, the taste of words sour in his mouth. He didn't remember what it felt like when these words tasted like honey. "They both betrayed me, no matter how loud I prayed, how desperately I begged."

Vittoria remained silent and he raised his head, finding her confused eyes immediately. She stopped glowing.

"I killed him," he whispered, his voice shaking and heavy with unshed tears. He thought he had naught left. He was wrong. "I stained my hands with his blood, I held him in my arms as the soul left him and he was no more."

She swallowed hard and he felt a smile creeping onto his face.

"I served a different God, my lady, and my prayers proved to be false. Can God forgive one for hating and loving at the same time? Will I be burnt or redeemed? Can a dead man be forgiven, Vittoria?"

Micheletto couldn't tell how long he had been kneeling there, only that it was already pitch dark around them. Tears were rolling away the layer of dirt on his face in streaks, and he felt the brush of a thumb against his forehead after what seemed like years.

"Ego... te... absolvo," she whispered, her voice weak.

He exhaled loudly, as if he was to breathe without heavy burdens on his shoulders for the first time in decades. He heard her run, and he didn't raise from the dust for long minutes afterwards.

The next day, he left Siena.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Hungarian song "Jó nekem" [Good For Me] by Ocho Macho.


End file.
